CHAPTER XI.
THE BEST-KNOWN FACE IN THE WORLD
Jean-aux-Choux dismounted from his Flanders mare at the entrance of awide courtyard, littered with coaches and carriages, the best of thesebeing backed under a sort of penthouse, but the commoner sort set out inthe yard to take the bitter weather with the sweet. Some had their"trams" pitifully uplifted to heaven in wooden protestation against suchill-treatment; some wept tears of cracked pitch because the sun had beentoo much with them. Leathern aprons of ancient diligences split andseamed with alternate rain and drought. Everywhere there was a mustysmell of old cushion-stuffing. A keen whiff of stables wandered past.Not far off one heard the restless nosing of horses in their mangers,and from yet another side came the warm breath of kine.
For Master Anthony Arpajon was a _bien_ man, a man of property, and sofar the Leaguers of Blois had not been able to prevail against him. Inthe courtyard, stretched at length on sacks of chaff, their heads ontheir corn-bags, with which, doubtless, on the morrow they wouldentertain their beasts by the way, many carters and drivers ofhigh-piled wine-chariots were asleep.
The lower part of Master Anthony's house was a sort of free hostel,like the caravanserai of the East. The upper, into which no stranger waspermitted to enter on any pretext, was like a fortified town.
To the left of the entrance, a narrow oblong break in the wall made asort of rude buffet. Sections of white-aproned, square-capped cookscould be seen moving about within. Through the gap they served thesimpler hot meats, bottles of wine, bread, omelettes, and salads to thearriving guests. It was curious that each, on going first to thebarrier, threw the end of his blue Pyrenean waist-band over hisshoulder. A little silver cow-bell, tied like a tassel to the silk,tinkled as he did so.
For this was the chosen sign of the men of Bearn. All the warringProtestants, and especially the Calvinists of the south, had adopted it,because it was the symbol of the arms of Bearn. And wherever it wasunsafe to wear the White Plume of the hero on the cap, as in the town ofBlois, it was easy to tuck the silver cow-bell of King Henry under thesilken sash, where its tinkling told no tales.
But among these wine-carriers and free folk of the roads there wasscarcely one who did not know Jean-aux-Choux. Yet they did not laugh ashe entered, but rather greeted him respectfully, as one who plays wellhis part, though he came in shouting at the top of his voice, "Way forthe fool of fools--the fool of three kings--and not so great a fool asany one of them!"
One man came forward, speaking the drawling speech of Burgundy, allliquid "l's" and slurred "r's," and with a clumsy salute took theJester's beast. Many of the others rose to their feet and made theirreverences according to their kind, clumsy or clever. Others whisperedquietly, passing round the news of his arrival.
For the fool had come to his own. He was no more Jean-aux-Choux, theKing's fool, but Master John Stirling, a Benjamin of the Benjaminites,and pupil of John Calvin himself.
The white-capped man behind the bar opened carefully a little door, andas instantly closed it behind Jean.
He pointed up a narrow stair which turned and was lost to sight in thethickness of the wall.
"You will find them at prayers," he muttered. "He is there."
"Kings are in His hand," responded Jean-aux-Choux, setting a foot on thefirst worn step of the narrow stair-case; "the Lord of Battles preservehim from the curs that yelp about his feet."
There came to Jean a sound of singing--sweet, far away, wistful, asinging not made for the chanting of choirs or the clamour of organs,but for folk hiding on housetops, in dens and caves of the earth--softsinging, with the enemy deadly and near at hand. The burden of theirmelody was that thirty-seventh Psalm which once on a time Clement Marothad risked his life to print.
"Wait on the Lord! Meekly thy burden bear; Commit to Him thyself and thine affair! In Him trust thou, and He will bring to pass All that thou wouldst accomplish and compass. Thy loss is gain--such is His equity, Each of His own He guards eternally. This lesson also learn-- He clasps thee closer as the days grow stern."
Jean opened the door. It was a long, black, oak-ceiled room into whichhe looked. There were perhaps a score of Huguenots present, all standingup, with Marot's little volume of the _Trente Psaumes_ in their hands.A pastor in Geneva gown and bands stood at a table head, upon which afew great folios had been heaped to form a rude pulpit.
Beside him, not singing, but holding his psalter with a certain wearyreverence, was a man with a face the best-known in all the world. Andcertainly Henry of Navarre never looked handsomer than in the days whenpretty Gabrielle of the house of D'Estrees played with fire, calling herHuguenot warrior, "His Majesty of the Frosty Beard."
Such a mingling of kindliness, of humour bland and finely tolerant, oftemper quick and high, of glorious angers, of swift, proud sinnings andrepentances as swift, of great eternal destinies and human frailties,never was seen on any man's face save this.
It was "The Bearnais"--it was Henry of Navarre himself.
So long as the singing went on Jean-aux-Choux stood erect like the rest.Then all knelt at the prayer--the King also with them--on the hard floorunder that low, black pent-roof, while the pastor prayed to the God ofSabaoth for the long-hoped-for victory of "His Own."
Beside "His Own" knelt Jean-aux-Choux, a look of infinite solemnity onhis face, while the grave Genevan "cult" went quietly on, as if therehad not been a Catholic or an enemy within fifty miles. The ministerceased. The King, without lingering on his knees as did the others, roserapidly, mechanically dusting his black cloth breeches and even therough carter's stockings which covered his shapely calves.
He sighed sadly, as his keen, quick-glancing eyes passed over thekneeling forms of the Huguenots. He did not take very kindly to thelengthy services and plain-song ritual of those whom he led as neversoldiers had been led before.
"Hal Guise hath the Religion, While I need absolution."
The Bearnais hummed one of the camp songs made against himself by hisfamiliar Gascons, which always afforded him the most amusement--next,that is, to that celebrated one which recounted his successes on otherfields than those of war. They were bold rascals, those Gascons of his,but they followed him well, and, after all, their idea of humour was hisown.
"Ha, long red-man," he called out presently, when all had risen decentlyfrom their knees, "you made sport for us at Nerac, I remember, and thenwent to my good brother-in-law's court in the suite of Queen Marguerite.What has brought you here?"
A tall man, dark and slim, leaned over and whispered in the King's ear.
"Ah," said the Bearnais, nodding his head, "I remember the reports. Theywere most useful. But the fellow is a scholar, then?"
"He is of Geneva," said the man at the King's ear, "and is learned inLatin and Greek, also in Hebrew!"
"No wonder he does his business with credit"--the King smiled as hespoke; "there is no fool like a learned fool!"
With his constant good humour and easy ways with all and sundry, Henryof Navarre stepped forward and clapped Jean-aux-Choux on the shoulder.
"Go and talk to the pastor, D'Aubigne," said the King to his tall, darkcompanion; "I and this good fellow will chat awhile. Sit down, man. I amnot Harry of Navarre to-night, but Waggoner Henri in from Coutras withsome barrels of Normandy cider. Do you happen to know a customer?"
"Ay, that do I," answered Jean-aux-Choux, fixing his eyes on the strong,soldierly face of the Bearnais, "one who has just arrived in this town,and may have some customs' dues to levy on his own liquor."
"And who may that be?" demanded the King.
"The Governor of Normandy," Jean answered--"he and no other!"
"What--D'Epernon?" cried the Bearnais, really taken by surprise thistime.
"I have just left his company," said Jean; "he has with him manygentlemen, the Professor of Eloquence at the Sorbonne, the nephew of theCardinal Bourbon----"
"What, my cousin John the pretty clerk?" laughed Henry.
"He drives a good steel point," said Jean-aux-Choux; "it were a pity tomake him a holy water sprinkler. I was too ugly to be a pastor. He istoo handsome for a priest!"
"We will save him," said the Bearnais; "when our poor old Uncle of theRed Hat dies, they will doubtless try to make a king of this springald."
"He vows he would much rather carry a pike in your levies," saidJean-aux-Choux. "It is a brave lad. He loves good hard knocks, and fromwhat I have seen, also to be observed of ladies!"
The Bearnais laughed a short, self-contemptuous laugh. "I fear we shallquarrel then, Cousin John and I," he said; "one Bourbon is enough in acamp where one must ride twenty miles to wave a kerchief beneath abalcony!"
"Also," continued Jean-aux-Choux, "there is with them my dear master'sdaughter, Mistress Claire----"
"What, Francis Agnew's daughter?" The King's voice grew suddenly kingly.
Jean nodded.
"Then he is dead--my Scot--my friend? When? How? Out with it, man!"
"The Leaguers or the King's Swiss shot him dead the Day of theBarricades--I know not which, but one or the other!"
The fine gracious lines of the King's face hardened. The Bearnais liftedhis "boina," or flat white cap, which he had resumed at the close ofworship, as was his right.
"They shall pay for this one day," he said; "Valois, King, and Duke ofGuise--what is it they sing? Something about
'The Cardinal and Henry and Mayenne, Mayenne!'
If I read the signs of the times aright, the King of France will doHenry of Guise's business one of these days, while I shall have Mayenneon my hands. At any rate, poor Francis Agnew shall not go unavenged, wagthe world as it will."
These were not the highest ideals of the Nazarene. But they suited awarring Church, and Henry of Navarre only voiced what was the feeling ofall, from D'Aubigne the warrior to the pastor who sat in a corner byhimself, thumbing his little Geneva Bible. There was no truce in thiswar. The League or the Bearnais! Either of the two must rule France. Thepresent king, Henry of Valois, was a merry, sulky, careless, deceitful,kindly, cruel cipher--the "man-woman," as they named him, the"gamin"-king. He laughed and jested--till he could safely thrust hisdagger into his enemy's back. But as for his country, he could no moregovern it than a puppet worked by strings.
"And this girl?" said the King, "is she of her father's brood, strongfor the religion, and so forth?"
"She is young and innocent--and very fair!"
The eyes of the Fool of the Three Henries met those of the Bearnaisboldly, and the outlooking black eyes flinched before them.
"These Scottish maids are not as ours," said the King, perhaps in orderto say something, "yet I think she was with her father in my camp, andshared his dangers."
"To the last she held up his dying head!" said Jean-aux-Choux. And quiteunexpectedly to himself, his eyes were moist.
"And where at this moment is Francis Agnew's daughter?" said the King.Then he added, without apparent connexion, "He was my friend!"
But his intimates understood the word, and so, though a poor fool, didJean-aux-Choux. Instinctively he held out his hand, as he would havedone to a brother-Scot of his degree.
The King clasped it heartily, and those who were nearest noticed thathis eyes also had a shine in them.
"What a man!" whispered D'Aubigne to his nearest neighbour. "Sometimeswe of the Faith are angry with him, and then, with a pat on the cheek,or a laugh, we are his children again. Or he is ours, I know not which!Guise shakes hands all day long to make his dukeship popular, but inspite of himself his lip curls as if he touched a loathsome thing.Valois presents his hand to be kissed as if it belonged to some oneelse. But our Bearnais--one would think he never had but one friend inthe world, and----"
"That this Scots fool is the man!"
"Hush," whispered D'Aubigne, "he is no fool, this fellow. He was of myacquaintance at Geneva. In his youth he knew John Calvin, and learnedin the school of Beza. The King does well to attach him! Listen!"
Jean-aux-Choux was certainly giving the King his money's-worth. Henrywas pacing up and down, his fingers busily and unconsciously arranginghis beard.
"I have not enough men to take him prisoner," he said; "this ex-mignonD'Epernon is a slippery fish. He will deal with me, and with another.But if he could sell my head to my Lord of Guise and these furiouswool-staplers of Paris, he would think it better worth his while thanthe off-chance of the Bearnais coming out on top!"
He pondered a while, with the deep niche of thought running downwardfrom mid-brow to the bridge of his nose, which they called "the King'scouncil of war."
"The girl is to be left in Blois," he muttered, as if to sum up thesituation, "with this Professor of the Sorbonne--an old man, I suppose,and a priest. Very proper, very proper! My cousin, John Jackanapes,the young ex-Leaguer, goes to Court. They will make a Politiqueof him, a Valois-divine-right man--good again, for after thisValois-by-right-divine (save the mark!) comes not Master John d'Albret,but--the Bearnais! Yet--I do not know--perhaps, after all, he had bettercome with me. Then I shall hold one hostage the more! Let me see--let mesee!"
Here Jean-aux-Choux, who had at that time no great love for the AbbeJohn, but was an honest man, protested.
"The time for crowning and seeking crowns is not yet," he said; "but thelad they call the Abbe John, though he fought a little on theBarricades, as young dogs do in a fray general, means no harm to YourMajesty, and will fight for you better than many who protest more!"
"I believe you--I believe you!" said Henry. "If there is aught buteyes-making and laying-on of blows in him, I shall soon find it out, andhe shall not trail a pike for long. He shall have his company, and thatof the choicest of my army."
Suddenly the pastor sprang up. He had a message to deliver, and being ofthe prevailing school of the mystics, he put it in the shape of avision, as, indeed, it had appeared to him.
"I see the earth dissolved," he cried, "the elements going up in aflaming fire, the inhabitants tormented and destroyed----"
"Thank God! Thank God!" responded the deep, dominating voice ofJean-aux-Choux.
The King requested to know the meaning of this unexpected thankfulnessfor universal destruction.
"Anything to settle the League!" said Jean-aux-Choux.
The White Plumes of Navarre: A Romance of the Wars of Religion Page 12
